


"Ray?"

by StayHomo



Category: The Gentlemen (2019)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24536878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StayHomo/pseuds/StayHomo
Summary: "I always thought you would show me Ireland"
Relationships: Coach/Raymond Smith
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	"Ray?"

**Author's Note:**

> The translation for my heart and soul Bleeding_Changer  
> Original available at https://ficbook.net/readfic/9497240

Coach watches Ray exit the old small souvenir shop; after checking with the map on his phone he turns to another small street of Cork. Colourful buildings change each other, in the sunlight they seem even funnier, like a fairy tale city. Raymond looks around from time to time, like he is looking for something familiar. Coach walks slowly not even trying to catch up with Ray. He is curious how much time it will take Ray to confess that he is totally lost. One more turn. He even laughs silently when in a narrow alley Ray sits down on the bench to take a break as a sign of silent defeat. Coach sits down next to him and chuckles.

“Do you still want me not to help you with a route in my hometown?” the sound of his voice gets lost somewhere in his throat, and the tender roar of the street stays uninterrupted.

Coach surprised tries to repeat the phrase, but it’s hopeless. He frowns and turns to Raymond when he weakly looks down to the uneven stone-block pavement.

“Cork is a nice city. Your city.”

Coach smiles forgetting about voice. Raymond suddenly raises his head and looks in his direction with empty eyes. He looks somewhere through Coach and adds quietly:

“But you are not here, Alex”

Coach sits back crazily. His eyes get round in misunderstanding.

When Ray gets up from the bench his legs shuffle on old smooth pavement. There is no trace of stone-block pavement.

Coach dumbfoundedly looks around the scenery that has changed quietly.

It looks a lot like Cork, but children’s whiny voices and the smell of pie from someone’s window give out the suburb.

Coach is standing in front of a small blue house without a porch which stands very close to other stone houses. All the windows are drawn by his father’s favourite shades. There’s the old post box on a long leg which Coach once hit with his motorbike. Tiny lawn, small Alex Scott’s dog used to lie next to. His dad used to boo River because she boldly put her paws on his mother’s main treasure – pansies. Now instead of the well-maintained flowerbed he could only see dried up greenery.

“Ray, what the hell is going on?”

Raymond lights up a cigarette and breaths out raggedly. He looks at the house where Coach grew up.

“I remember how you told me about your parents. Son, who loved his ma and da.”

Raymond’s hands shake barely visible, when he adjusts his glasses.

“Last year I borrowed you my car, while yours was at the workshop, so you could go and see them, because Mrs Scott got ill. Remember? You took off as soon as your father called you,” Raymond’s lips twist in a bitter smile. “And now they don’t even know where you are buried.”

Something inside Coach breaks and he just freezes in terror. Nervous coldness nastily bites his skin. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks that _he can’t even feel it._

The cigarette from Ray’s weak fingers falls down like in slow motion and then suddenly disappears in tall grass.

Coach looks around again. Heavy and grey sky is above him. The green scenery and not a soul around. Eternity. Wind plays in ears and wildflowers. Air is thick, Coach knows the thunderstorm is coming. He wants to tell Ray that when he was younger the boys and him loved to run in the rain but the absurd of the situation shuts his mouth again.

Ray’s posture is perfect even now, though Coach notices how weakly and tiredly Ray goes down the hill. His hair is hopelessly dishevelled by fearsome force of nature. Only Raymond’s warm coat can deal with the weather.

There are no good thoughts but darkness in Coach’s head. Fear. Dark nightmare.

Raymond suddenly sits down on the ground not coming close to the white cliff. Coach finally hears eager splashing of the Celtic sea.

“I don’t know where to look for you, Alex.”

Instead of Coach another gust of wind answers Raymond.

“I always thought you would show me Ireland.”

Raymond takes off his glasses, puts them in his coat’s inner pocket.

“But not like that.”

He closes his eyes listening to the nature’s howling roar. The echo of thunder suddenly roars over the horizon.

Coach is sick of longing and desperation, and he stretches his hand out to touch Raymond’s shoulder. When his fingers touch a little wet fabric, everything around disappears.

*

The house is silent.

“Raymond?”

No one responds. _Or does he still have no voice?_

It’s gloomy and dark in the bedroom – thick blinds steal all the light.

“Raymond?”

The office is empty. There’s no one in the bathroom.

Coach puts on the wrinkled t-shirt and goes downstairs hurriedly because the greasy feeling of uncertainty doesn’t let go.

“Ray?”

The hall is empty too, and he enters the living room. At the exact same moment Raymond enters the room through the door leading to the garden. Mirrored movements look creepy regarding his troubled thoughts.

Raymond isn’t trying to hide quick discontent closing the door behind him:

“Once in a blue moon I have time in the morning to cook something more exquisite than omelette, but here we come,” Raymond casually waves his hand at the rain starting to fall. There are dark wet traces on his sweater.

Coach comes closer to the glass door. He can’t pull himself together unless he hears the familiar rustling on the side – Raymond put the kettle on.

Ray must have noticed Coach’s tension; he comes closer and stands next to him.

Coach is glad because Raymond says nothing aloud - there’s no need. He looks into his light eyes not covered by glasses, and absentmindedly traces Raymond’s back with his hand, trying to understand if everything’s real.

The nightmare slowly disappears into rain getting heavier. Raymond’s body warmth brings his restless mind back to the happiness of reality.

“Would you like to take a vacation and go to Ireland with me?”

Ray gives Coach a strange untrusting look:

“If only you show me it yourself.”

“Should I include Irish tales?”

“My favourite is about leprechauns.”

Coach kisses Raymond on the shoulder, hiding a soft laugh. Thunder roars in the distance. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you are interested why nobody knew where Coach was buried. The author has found out that in Germany there are anonymous graves. "Urns with ashes are buried with other anonymous dead men in the same section. There's no gravestone or names. The relatives don't know the exact place." The author hasn't seen any information about Great Britain, but the absolute precision wasn't needed anyway.


End file.
